Somniator
by Immortalis
Summary: Trapped betweeen this world and the next, Integra must make a choice, and Alucard cheats...
1. Chapter 1

Hellsing—_Somniator_

**Disclaimer**—I do not own Hellsing. $#& it!!! I do wish that the manga would come out faster, however it is never a wise idea to hurry things on. I am sorry.

**Synopsis**—Alucard cheats…

**Author's Notes**—Yes, the synopsis is like _Red, Red_—another worthy Hellsing fanfic. I bow before you. Lost in the Dreamworld, Alucard's desire becomes a frightening reality.

**AN1—** Somniator is Latin for 'dreamer.'

**AN2—**This is one possible view to end the Hellsing manga series.

**AN3—**There are hints and references from my Hellsing fanfic series known as Bloodlust. You don't have to read but it might help.

**AN4**—There will be four parts.

Regards your ever obedient servant,

Immortalis

Shades of the Unreal 

_One of Four_

**T**his was a dream.

A dream was the only logical explanation for it.

And yet, it seemed so unbelievably real—the sour smell of spilled blood in the air, the cool air brushing, whisperingly lovingly against her flushed skin, hot beats of sweat trickling down her brow and waves of smoke coating charcoal London. In a frightening sense, given the mayhem and murder, it was a beautiful night. The sky was dark as midnight black and translucent prey-clouds glided on some lightning-fast and unseen breeze. The twinkling stars shimmered under the blanket of clouds and darkness. The moon was blood red.

One word could describe its nature…Perfect. It was perfect.

The Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing emerged from the endless darkness and stood in the mist of the carnage and chaos. However, she did not wear her typical attire—scarlet tie, crisp white shirt, matching trousers and suit-jacket with a smoking cigar crushed firmly between her teeth. No, it was a dream so normal attire-habits did not apply. Instead, Integra was wearing an old-fashioned, most likely Victorian nightgown—buttoned back, laced collar and loose fitting. It was pearly white with not a drop of blood or dust on it, which was odd, considering the blood and mayhem surrounding her. The gown whipped fiercely against her bare legs and her moonlit strands danced wildly in some unseen and deviant breeze. Her silver crucifix reflected in the moonlit gleam, which dangled on rosemary around her neck and rested on her sternum, between her breasts. With her blue, almost sapphire-stones Integra glazed about indifferently.

It was a dream and therefore nothing truly special.

However, it was quiet. Far too quiet for a battlefield. She half-expected to hear explosions, gunshots, the screams and moans of the wounded and dying. But no…she was escorted by constant waves of silence. Complete stillness…

It was uncommonly silent.

And she was alone.

It was the stillness that chilled Integra.

The thud of boot and the swish of a cloak warned Integra that she had company. Integra spun around and gave a hard stare at the dark figure emerging from the darkness.

The hooded stranger spoke in a voice cool as steel, wrapped in silky velvet, "It is a beautiful night. The sight is simply breathtaking." Motioning towards the carnage surrounding them the familiar figure said, "For eons I have dreamt of days like this—the world teetering on the verge of apocalypse. I must say that it is beautiful…blood and chaos. Such Hellfire!!"

Integra frowned, wrinkling her brow and studying the figure with growing confusion. She was dreaming, so it could be anything and dreams were anything but predictable.

The figure heaved a disappointed sigh and replied thickly, "However…the circumstance is somewhat grim, _Integra_—nevertheless the sight is exquisite."

His crazed laughter boomed over the remains of London and echoed into the starless and moonless night. The figure purred seductively, "Lovely night for a stroll, you know." Abruptly, the stranger held out his hand. It was a sickly pale thing with long skeletal fingers and the skin partly translucent and emaciated to the veins and yellow parchment bone. While the hand appalled her, the rich voice did not. It was inviting and almost hypnotic and charismatic, "Tell me—might I have the pleasure to prompt you, my Love, to join me? Accompany me."

The Hellsing-Heir raised a skeptical brow.

Seeing Integra hesitant, he added, beckoning, "Come. Take a walk with me."

Integra did not know whether to step closer or recoil. There was something so familiar about this dreamy character. "And pray tell me…who are you, stranger?"

"You know me, _Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing_." The footsteps were slow and tantalizingly deliberate, the pace almost mocking her lack of patience. The mass of shadows physically retreated. Her sapphire-stone eyes traveled upwards, studying the iron-pressed slacks, vest, crimson-blood tie, orange sunglasses and red fedora—the infamous figure dressed in red.

And of course, Integra glazed at the familiar pair of red eyes hidden in a mass of long black hair.

The No-Life King.

Nosferatu.

Count.

Recognizing him at last Integra huffed dryly. "Alucard…this is a dream," Integra stated as-matter-as-fact. Rarely did the Hellsing Heir dream, and in the uncommon occasions it usually consisted with sunny walks with her father and in some cases Integra was arguing with Enrico Maxwell about the silliest things. One time it was about how to cut a peanut-butter sandwich properly. In another dream, she and Police-Girl were singing karaoke, which proved fatal and dreadful. Her dreams never consisted with the No-Life King. Never with Alucard. His presence in her dreams would be disturbing, if not odd; however stranger things had happened. "Just a dream."

And dreams were never rational. Integra hated them.

The No-Life King continued holding his hand out.

She reminded stiffly, "This is a dream."

"How quaint!" With the lethal graces of a predator the vampire threw his cloak over his arm and smoothed out its wrinkles. His fingertips barely brushed over the sinister fabric. As if it had an individual mind of its own, the cloak traveled like slow and deliberate liquid against the breeze. The vampire shrugged his shoulders impassively and corrected dryly, "Not quite…this lies parallel with dreams. Two separate lines that lie together, yet never touch. This is not a dream."

She smirked doubtfully at her pet. Whatever nonsense was he sputtering?

"But on this most auspicious of evenings, shall I explain the phenomenon of this meeting?" Eager for an answer Alucard questioned, "Are you not at least bit curious?"

Feeling a slight chill she defiantly crossed her arms. Integra remarked, "It is a dream, vampire. There is nothing special or uncommonly unique about it. I shall wake up and this will become nothing more than a regrettable memory."

He smirked darkly. "And what if you should never wake up?"

Between Iscariot and the Royal Order Integra preferred Alucard to both of the fiends, even if he was a vampire.

But his words and tone startled her.

Suddenly Integra could not recall if indeed she was sleeping. Was she at Hellsing Manor? No. Since the war with Millennium she had not slept. She disregarded the fervent urges of Walter and Seras Victoria. Integra had an enemy to kill and she had no will to be out-done by Iscariot. So, where had she fallen asleep? Certainly not on the battlefield.

She did remember Dark Walter.

The Major.

But after that, everything was a blur.

Was it even a dream?

Seeing her lost in thought the No-Life King advanced, inching closer to the lovely thing dressed in the modest, yet advertising garment. His blazing eyes traveled across her skin to her eyes. He spoke as he moved and no words could describe his voice, "I am curious Integra. So terribly curious. It is _interesting_…" The vampire cooed with unbelievable sweetness, "How terribly intriguing! Part of me wonders, my _falling_ Master…I am so terribly curious."

She blinked and smiled but it lacked warmth and sincerity. Heaving a bored sigh Integra remarked coolly, "Curious, you say Alucard? Tell me, what notion has sparked your rising inquisitiveness? It is not a favorable trait."

"Miracles can happen," he mused plainly.

"And I never pegged you as a religious fellow?" Dream or not, Integra could hardly believe that she was playing this silly game.

The vampire confessed meekly, "I am not, but that doesn't refrain me from finding this extremely amusing, even ironic."

"This dream is tiring me. Speak plainly," she barked.

Alucard was ever so happy to oblige her. He whispered low in the wind, "I am insatiably curious _Integra, my Love_. I almost want to watch you fall, my broken angel. I almost want to watch you _die_…"

Beats of silence followed.

I almost want to watch you die… 

The No-Life King proceeded to encircle her in a swathe of darkness and coldness, followed only by his trailing trench-coat and cloak. It was the manner in which a predator would stalk its wounded prey. That act was similar to a cat playing a mouse to death. A Japanese proverb from the Ming Dynasty came to mind, 'the cunning warrior attacks either body nor mind, but the heart.' Integra refused to give Alucard her vulnerable back so she spun on her heel facing the vampire—it was a continuous motion. He cooed callously, "Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing, my _Fallen Master_. My beloved enemy. You look lovely, Countess—your eyes burned with hatred…bloodied, dirtied and divine…your face reflects how torn you are inside, how devastated…and how _broken_. Sweet Master…"

Shaking her head Integra said evenly, "Dream or not—you will not direct me so informally."

When had she bloody fallen asleep?

"_Falling, but not yet broken_," he mused out loud. That saying hit home, slamming into Integra's pride like a knife slicing through butter. Uncertainly flooded her mind. It actually hurt. The vampire took one sip of her misery and pain and found it to be exquisite and greatly pleasurable. His expression reminder Integra of a thirsty chicken peeking tears off her cheeks. Alucard touched his fingers to his lips as if he tasted her pain—in the physical sense. He replied in a singsong tone, "My angel is broken and falling…"

Integra looked again.

Blood. His gloved fingers were covered in blood.

"I can hear the Virgin bleed…" the vampire replied darkly.

Suddenly she felt as though something wet were dripping down her front. Frowning Integra glanced down at her belly.

It was one bullet.

One bullet.

Just a slug of metal. She glanced down at the gaping hole in her abdomen and swirls of thick smoke danced from it. Integra blinked heavily and scrutinized the wound, prodding it. Odd, she hardly felt it; nevertheless, her fears were confirmed when hot and thick crimson-blood oozed out, staining her nightgown into a darker shade that would have matched Alucard's eyes perfectly. Red. The scarlet-rosette bloomed cross the cloth, like a young flower eager to mature and spread.

It was just one bullet.

It was so familiar like déjà vu.

She touched the blood. Surprisingly it felt warm and thick.

No dream was this vivid. Elements of grim fear, uncertainty and revulsion consumed her like lotuses gorging themselves on the bountiful harvest. She felt empty and hallow, filled with nothing but her assembled qualms and dreads. Integra became stiff like a statue, shoulders ridged and unblinking eyes staring at the blood evidence on her flesh. The composure of the Iron Maiden, the unfeeling and unyielding woman of steel was forgotten. The Hellsing-Heir had nothing but the hollowness of mortality. Lifting her bleak eyes from the wound into the blood-orbits inside his sockets, Integra spoke in the plainest tone she could muster, "I am not dreaming, am I?"

Smiling fading, the No-Life King shook his head. "No."

Fearing the worse she asked, "Am I dead?"

Alucard shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Not yet."

Integra swallowed. Her voice was trembling, "Am I changed?"

A smile inched on his thin lips. "Again, not yet?"

Frustrated and frightened she demanded harshly, "Than what am I?"

The answer was simple. "Lost...fallen and broken."

Then she remembered…

TBC 

Immortalis

_Remember_—This is 'part one of four.'

I hoped you enjoyed it. Believe or not, I actually dreamt this and so, I felt somewhat obligated to print this. It was cool and yet slightly disturbing—plus it was like the OVA amine. Talk about being interesting.

Reviews please. Tell me if you liked it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hellsing—**_Somniator _

**Disclaimer—**Remember…I have no legal rights to Hellsing.

**Synopsis—**Integra remembers reality.

**Author's Notes—**Part two of three. By the way if you should see this '**O**' it means that there's a footnote at the end.

Ta,

Immortalis

OoO

Cruel and Unfeeling Truths 

TWO OF FOUR

Just a slug of metal.

It was the flare of her coat that diverted her attention and the roaring sound of the Smith & Weston .22 in the mad Major's hand. At the close distance the noise was incredibly loud and the sound almost deafened her keen ears. In her quest to avenge Walter, Integra Hellsing managed to corner the foul Major of Millennium; however, such reckless and selfless act had a price, and a bitter consequence. During the battle he taunted, "Come and play, Fraulein," and soon after that Montana Max emptied a bullet into her abdomen.

She glanced down at the gaping hole in her abdomen and swirls of thick smoke danced from it. Integra wrinkled her brow and lifted her eyes to the Major. Smoking gun in hand the man smiled with that detestable grin that almost seemed to split his cheeks. The Hellsing stumbled a bit as her grip on her blade loosened and her vision swooned. Staggering almost drunkenly, Integra struggled to maintain on her feet, despite of her wobbling and weakening knees. Her legs were heavy as iron. Blood draining from her, Integra's famous Indian skin diminished, fading away and a deathly, sickly and ghostly shade replaced it. Even her sapphire-stone eyes had lost their fierce and unbound luster.

Calm and assured as always, the Major cleared the hammer and blew away the ring of smoke rising from the muzzle. The evil thing laughed and replied gleefully, "So…sorry, Integra Wingates Hellsing. So terribly sorry. I regret, even lament over this—but kill the Master, free the Monster."

Her tongue felt unbelievably thick in her mouth. She wanted to throw a curse at him but lack the strength to form the words.

The Major hummed a little tone under his breath. He was truly a disgusting man and well beyond the boarders of sanity. "Lovely…poor _Fraulein_," mused the Major. "Millennium declare war on the Count and death to the Countess."

Fuming, Integra found new strength and she leered coldly, "I am _not _dead. Not yet…"

The Hellsing Heir moved and the fowl mad-Major had no time to react. She slammed the blade upwards, impaling his tongue and breaking through the top of skull with a wet and satisfying crunch. He gave a pig squealing yelp. His eyes budged through their sockets and rolled backwards, disappearing out of view. Once the blade was released from his thick brains, the Major crumbled into a heap, twitched once and then grew deathly still.

"Poor Major," quirked a voice.

It was Schrodinger!

His cat-like ears were low and sad. Schrodinger studied the Major's dead body with great disappointment and his hands were buried deep in pockets. His boards were low giving him horrible posture. He replied sorrowfully, "Poor unfortunate Major." Then he smiled, apparently his grief and mourning were short-lived and Schrodinger said gladly, "_But_…as you know, every composer dies before his works become immortalized. At least you died with a smile on your face." It was sickeningly true. There was still a revolting grin on his plump lips.

Integra gripped the blade and faced the boy. "You—you!!"

Schrodinger lifted his amber eyes at her and smirked sweetly, "Don't act surprise, Fraulein of Hellsing. _I am everywhere and nowhere_. I am pleased that the Major received his final wish." 

"Which would be?" she choked painfully. Dying or not, Integra was in no mood for meaningless riddles.

He blinked. "Why…do die by your hand? You have been a worthy opponent, _Countess_…but your valiant efforts are useless, and all in bittersweet vain. This war will change everything. Everything! Earth is wasteland and '_I will show you fear in a handful of dust_.' **O **

"Besides, I would save your breath," the cat-boy added darkly, "The bullet is in your liver, and as you know it will be next to nothing to stop the bleeding. Ciao, Fraulien of Hellsing."

And with one final bow he was gone.

Now Integra was alone.

Suddenly there was a growl behind her—a ghoul, the remains of an Englishman. His milky-glazed eyes bore down on her and streams of saliva dribbled on his bloody chin. Worms and maggots wiggled out between his teeth. Useless mindless thing. The creature snarled and lunged towards her. Integra upholstered her beloved Glock .45 and emptied a bullet into his kneecap. With a painful roar the ghoul slammed to the ground. The Hellsing Heir cleared the chamber and approached. The monster licked the blood off her boots, its gray tongue dancing wildly in the air. Integra said softly, "Find peace and rest."

And she fired a silver slug between its eyes and the ghoul went still.

Looking at the carnage and chaos Integra realized that Schrodinger was right—this war had changed everything. It would change everything. The unsuspected public was a dinning meal and a race destined to be enslaved, monsters roamed the land, order had submitted to an utter chaotic mess. It was horrible to witness and simply catastrophic. It was hell on earth and a playground for the minions of the evil. London would never recover, much less the world. However, never underestimate humanity…

Still hemorrhaging hard, she clasped her hand tighter over the gaping wound; nevertheless her efforts proved useless. The thick blood oozed out between her fingers, staining her fine tailored suit beyond repair. Integra was tired and so terribly sleepily. If she could just lie and down and rest. But no! Not like this. Never like this. Just as U.S president Roosevelt said during World War II, '_I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees_,' so this incident was no different. Integra was going to die in battle with the blood of many ghouls and Midians on her steel. In truth, Integra felt that she would meet her end in the war with Millennium, if not Iscariot. It was just a voice inside her mind, foreshadowing the grim future; however, Hellsings are very stubborn and determined individuals. She was not yet dead, not until her breath halted in her lungs and her heart was still. Her will was set and only death could possibly break it.

Crazed and like a madwoman Integra slice through ghoul after ghoul, spilling blood into the thin smoky air and making a trail of dead bodies as she moved forward. Like a Spartan soldier there was no surrender, no retreat and no mercy—just the thrill of war and the honor of pride and duty.

Integra blinked through the haze of consciousness and looked at three approaching shadows uninterestedly. Three Nazis. **O** The first Nazi replied thickly, "Well…well what have we here?"

No doubt, Death himself was lingering near.

The vampire studied her and expressed, "The Fraulein of Hellsing! What luck we have boys, wouldn't you say? The night is young. Right, Dortlich?"

The FREAK known as Dortlich laughed and noted, "Damn! Look at her. This bitch is furious,"

The one with the supple on the chin replied warningly. "The Huntress of Midians. Be cautious, Grutus."

Grutus rolled his eyes.

"Her _pet_ will be around," he reminded meekly. "I tell you, he's the Devil. Son of the morning."

"Stupid superstitious bastard." Grutus pulled out a knife and threatened his cowardly or overly cautious comrade. "Listen Kolnas, we are Midians. Vampires! Immortality is magnificent! So grow some guts, or I will be oblige to see what they look like…" He stopped suddenly and glanced at the Integra. Something mischievous sparked in his crimson-blood eyes. He smiled, displaying his fangs and expressed, "We ought to have some fun with the Fraulein."

Dortlich seemed to get the idea. "The Major did teach us manners. We should entertain our guest. Otherwise it would be terribly rude of us."

"I would like to display the firmness of my confidence?" Grutus asked lustily. He made a suggestive motive with his hips and a series of hearty chuckles followed. Waving around his knife he answered, "Let's find out, shall we?"

Dortlich said, "Yeah. I would like to fuck the Protestant-_Virgin_."

The Nazi turned to him and snapped, "No. You can get sloppy seconds. Deflowering is _my_ specialty."

Integra straightened defiantly and gripped her sword tighter, turning her knuckles white and the blade gleamed dangerously in the moonlight. Drenched in blood and swathed in smoke, she replied fiercely, "Come on! I shall fight you. I said come on!" The tone of her voice started them. Unlike other countless victims her voice did not quiver or tremble. No, she would not beg for mercy or a painless, quick death. Instead, Integra took a step closer and taunted harshly, "Come on! What the bloody hell are you waiting for! Come on!"

Grutus and Dortlich exchanged glances with their eyes still shinning vividly in the shadowy darkness. "Are you so eager for death, little Miss Hell-bitch whore?"

Integra laughed and it was not a pleasant sound. She hardly recognized herself. "Dying is a day worth living for! I said come on."

Grinning like mad-dogs they flew towards her.

Kolnas yelled, "Hey gents!!"

Integra pulled her eyes away from the approaching Nazis and peered into the distance. On the horizon there was a figure draped in a shadowy embrace. No doubt, the Masters of the Covenant **O** had come out to play. Millennium had their moment of triumph and taste of war, but the true players of life and dead had approached, claiming ownership for land and man's souls.

Dortlich growled in irritation and followed her narrowed eyes. "Who the fuck are you?"

The voice replied darkly, "Call me Reaper, for I am here for your souls. My collection needs some filling." The shadow physically withdrew and revealed Alucard in his wondrous splendor, dressed and heavily bounded in leather. His midnight mane reached to his knees and flicked dangerous in the wind. "Having some trouble, Master?"

Integra scoffed, "Only a little." She stabbed the unsuspected Dortlich and pieced through his unfeeling heart. He screamed once before turning into dust. Kolnas disappeared with a Hellhound hard on his heels. It was not long before his screams were echoing over the battlefield.

There was a sickening crunch of bone as Alucard cleaved Grutus down the center. The thing gave out a howl of terror. He was thrown to the charcoal ground, moaning loudly and begging towards the hellish figure draped in red and black, the colors of death. A boot stomped on his skull and proceeded to crush his bones and with a splatter of brain, the Nazi grew permanently silent. Grutus was dead. Wiping the bone, blood and brain off his boot, the No-Life King straightened and glazed at the Protestant–Knight. Two pairs of familiar ruby-eyes bored into her soul.

Silenced following, accompanied only by her wheezing breathes and the causal drips of her blood. Integra whispered, "Alucard…"

There was something between a smile and a disappointed look on his face. He mused lightly, "You are dying."

"I am not dead." Wincing in pain and blood draining from the corner of her mouth, Integra craned her head and studied the approaching vampire with intense and growing interest. "I am not dead."

"No. Not yet."

Finally Integra collapsed, falling to her knees and pitching backwards.

A gloved-hand grabbed her and eased her limp figure on the charcoal ground. His infamous red trench coat appeared and he swathed her bleeding, dying form into its embrace. He waved his hand over her eyes and mumbled something under his breath. Something like 'Somniator…' and then world went black. Falling into darkness, Integra heard Alucard's voice saying, "You foolish thing. This is not yet the end, the point of no return."

TBC 

Immortalis

Remember this is Part Two of Four! You are halfway!

Author's Notes—My footnotes. O Grutus, Dortlich and Kolnas—Yes the three Nazis are the bastards who ate Mischa in Hannibal Rising. I like to put things in there just to see if people catch on, especially an old friend of mine, MAD-05. He he he he! O 'I will show you fear in a handful of dust.' 

--T. S. Eliot, _The Waste Land_

**O **Masters of the Covenant—The Covenant is an underground society composed mainly with vampires and the eldest, most powerful are known as Nosferatu and therefore 'masters.' Look at _Bloodlust_


	3. Chapter 3

Hellsing—Somniator 

**Disclaimer—**I don't own Hellsing. None of it.

**Synopsis—** Trapped in the dreamscape, Alucard offers the Protestant-Maiden a choice.

**Author's Notes**—Part three of four.

_Such fireworks as we make, we two!_

_Because you hate me and I hate you._

_--"Fireworks," Amy Lowell_

Ashes and Diamonds 

THREE OF FOUR

Alucard's hypnotic voice interrupted her memories, "Revenge is a fruitless waste, you know."

Integra stiffened, glazing about at the Dreamworld and truly it was beautiful, however given the circumstance, it only clouded it. The nightgown felt sleekly wet and the blood dried, coating her arms and hands. She looked like a virgin deflowered on her wedding night. What ghastly imagery! Then again, the No-Life always had a dark and twisted imagination. Integra cried out desperately, "This is not real!" She pulled on her hair, hoping to wake herself from this dreadful dreamscape and escape. It was horrible. She moaned, "Wake up. It is a dream, a nightmare…just wake up. Wake up!"

She pointed an accusing finger at the No-Life King, who impassively struggled his shoulders and smirked at his Master. The Knight accused harshly, "You bloody bastard! Sick fuck! You have been planning this. This is _your_ doing."

"Yes! Yes of course. For _years_." Wrinkling his brow, Alucard rested his chin in palm and glanced around. "To be frank, I am rather impressed by the achievement. Carmilla is an excellent tutor."

At the sound the name Integra blinked. "The Bloody Baroness **O **?!"

"Indeed."

Now, Integra had no doubts about his frankness. The Baroness was a legend, a simple fiction to the ignorant public; however she was a valuable enemy to the Royal Order and the Hellsing Organization. Even Iscariot had dealings with her. Carmilla was infamous for being the Queen of Illusions. The shades of the Dreamworld were her instruments and the mortal mind was the object of her amusements and destruction. If indeed she was Alucard's teacher, than the situation was serious and terribly grim. He cooed sweetly, "I know how to manipulate the elements, even make illusions but—I have never perfected ensnaring a soul within the Dreamworld."

"No…" she protested. This was a dreamscape, her personal prison not only in body but mind. Basically, the vampire lord was mind fucking her. Integra felt her blood boil and she demanded, "Enough. I have had enough of your sick twisted games, vampire! Send us back."

Alucard frowned and joked sweetly, "Now…why would I want to do that, Integra? Why ever? I think that would defeat the whole purpose being here."

Integra growled low, "There isn't any reason to be here."

"You are dying, Integra," the vampire reminded.

She exclaimed proudly, "Dying or not, I am still your Master, Alucard. And I say, send us back!"

The No-Life King's answer was short and simple. "No…

Without another moment of hesitation Integra lunged at him but he quickly subdued her, seizing her wrists and smiling down at her. He looked like a hungry predator. "You forget," he waved his hand to display the beautiful and yet disturbing elements of the dreamscape, "none of this is real."

"Send us back—that is a direct order!! This isn't a game."

"On the contrary, I argue against that." Alucard explained, "You forget this is not a dream, nor is this real. This is a game and _I am the Master_." True enough it was not a dream. This was different…there was some new deviltry behind this. She was lost and alone with a No-Life King and it might as well be her death sentence. "The Dreamworld is intriguing, as well as _dangerous_. It is very unstable, but yet its ability is unlimited, without bounds. That is one thing that Abraham Van Hellsing failed to acknowledge. Here…we are all ashes and diamonds—equals in the end."

Integra said softer, "Please send me home."

"_Please_? That is such a strange word on your lips, Integra." He released her and she fell in the ground, trapped in her delusional bloodstained gown and unsettling mindset. "The Hellsing Seal is fading. Dying like you, Integra."

"I want to go home," she said in the manner of a child. Kneeling on the ground Integra glazed fervently at the midnight sky. Her breath came in short gasps. Long ago young Integra had severe asthma and now she was revisiting it. Dreamworld or not, it was so unbelievably real…so how could it not be true. "This is not real. This is not real." She grabbed the crucifix and pressed it against her thundering heart. "_Our father who art in heaven_…"

The vampire made a disdainful face. Alucard was not an atheist. He was once born an active and fervent Catholic; however, those days were long forgotten. "Keeling does not become you, Integra and besides, I hate beggars."

Integra continued, "_Hallowed be thy name…thy kingdom be done, thy will be done…as on earth as it is done in heaven…Forgive us of our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us…Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil_…"

Calm and hands behind his back Alucard strolled closer and parked himself behind her. Grinning that horrible smile, the Nosferatu leaned over her and placed both hands on either side of her temples and stretched her head backwards, resting her occipital bone on his belt. Lost in prayer, Integra ignored his efforts since her focus was on God. He stared down at her closed eyelids and taunted, playing with her hair. As Integra finished her fruitless prayer, "_For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory forever and forever_," her eyes snapped open and sapphire-eyes met ruby-eyes.

Integra simply looked up and backwards at him.

"Amen…" Reaching into his trench coat, the vampire pulled out a white handkerchief and in the manner of a gentle lover, wiped away the stream of blood trickling down her nose. She flinched, recoiling; however, her avenues of retreat were limited. He replaced the tissue. His light and seductive fingertips traveled through her hair, down to her earlobe and along her neck. Her pulse quickened under his cold touch. _Again, _actually none of this was real. It was an illusion, a dreamscape and a cosmic-palace between the dying Integra Wingates Hellsing and the No-Life King, Nosferatu Alucard—His personal heaven and haven, while it remained her private hell.

"This is not real." Alucard warned lightly, "Save your worthless prayer. God cannot help you here. I am your redeemer." Watching her expression he lifted a bemused brow. "But…I must say that the sight you is absolutely exquisite, _Artemis_."

Integra huffed at the old nickname. After all, Artemis was the Greek goddess of the Hunt and the lovely beautiful twin sister of Apollo. It was ironic that the Nosferatu compared to Artemis, since there were uncommon similarities —she was a Protestant Maiden wed to her duty and bound solely to her God, and of course, her virgin status boasted the resemblance. Integra was the Huntress, working under the solace of the moon and the reflection of the stars. Like Artemis she had a fierce temper and an unmistakable sense of loyalty.

"Again, the sight of you is remarkable." Indeed she was a sight to behold, with her sapphire eyes smoldering with fury and dismay, moonlit stands twisted in disarray, charcoal and blood decorating her pale sweaty face. This was perfection. Musing he replied out loud, "Dirtied and divine—such a tantalizing combination, I must add. Simply beautiful."

"Nonetheless Integra you are not an immortal goddess. You are human." With much self-control, Alucard refrained himself from going to her and gorging himself like a thirsty leech on her veins, and ultimately draining her bone dry. No. He craved to desecrate the untouched walls of her virginal temple. Make her the slave, since submission was such a pleasing game. Enticed, temptation surged through him like an electrical charge; however, this was the Dreamworld where the shades of reality were blurred and undefined. It would not be real. It would be a dream, a wet dream of the wishing mind. "I daresay, how do you like your mortality? Is it bittersweet?"

A warm spray of spit was his only response.

Uninterested he wipe it away and glanced at the mixture of spit and thick blood. Catching her glaze, Alucard licked it and savored the Hellsing blood on his tongue. It was unbelievably sweet and rich. But again, _not real_. "Do you find me sadistic, Integra? Am I not cruel? Or even evil…" The grip on the nape of her neck tightened to a threatening level. "Make an effort to answer now."

Integra fumed, "You are a monster." At that, the vampire released her and she cautiously withdrew from his touch and intoxicating presence. Alucard intently watched her stand up and face him.

"Yes, I am monster," then he added. "But…for the moment I am kind. I am giving you time." She gave him a puzzled look so he explained further, "This is rather simple, Integra. The Dreamworld has many shades—this is our palace, a cosmetic place. There is no essence of time. You are dying, so I giving a few moments to make a choice."

She demanded, "What choice?"

"What choice, you ask? I think it would rather be simple, Integra. You are dying, so what would have to offer you." Alucard said, "True death is not bad. It might even be painless. It is eternity—time and life have no value…together they are merely illusions—dreams on the way to death."

Integra was not falter by this, so she challenged smoothly, "Is that a passage from the Devil's text?"

"No. A personal motto."

Then she knew.

He was going to watch her die. Or until she accepted his offer. Either way, the stakes remained in his favor; after all, the No-Life King would be free and unbound. "The choice is always yours, " he reluctantly added. The Count loomed even closer Integra.

Integra remarked, "I am not afraid of death, _unlike_ you I shall embrace it."

Alucard argued, "You don't have to die." It was no secret. He desired to change her—but the No-Life King liked his women willingly. He reached out towards her and again, offered his hand to her. Alucard grew silent and added in a softer tone, "I know you do not want to die, Artemis…so make the _choice_. You are a worthy adversary—strong and unfeeling as steel, loyal and excessively stubborn…my goddess. We can play our Game for all eternity. The prefect battle for submission and domination. What fun we shall have! The world would tremble. It would bleed…" his voice fell, "If only you would _come to me_…"

There was a strange expression on her face—pity, hatred, sadness or even consideration. "All my life I have pitted against pretenders and frauds, but not you. Never you, my Integra." The No-Life King reached out, cupped her face and caressed her cheek with his thumb. Her eyes fluttered in a mixture of lust and disgust. Their lips were tantalizingly close and his breath brushed against her flushed and virginal skin. "You are a perfect instrument. A goddess within a broken angel. Permit me to mend your wings, my Love and you can fly with the Immortals of this realm. Come to me. No, instead…come _with_ me, _Countess_."

Now Integra blinked out the haze and laughed. The No-Life King frowned but her laughter escalated, echoing across the battlefield. It was disdainful. Sneering she repeated the words of Abraham Van Hellsing, "You have nothing, pathetic No-Life King…you are _nothing_."

His eyes darkened dangerously. Growling he bared his fangs at her.

"Nothing," she added softer. "Nothing."

The walls of the Dreamworld buckled, threatening to fracture.

_Nothing_…

Enraged Alucard lunged forward, grabbed her by the throat and dragged, heaving her closer with unnecessary roughness and ignoring the choking abuse hurled at him from between those unbelievable sweet and blood-streaked lips. Her teeth clenched against the excruciating pain and harsh blue eyes glaring at him. Dry ice burns. His grip tightened to a threatening level and she was sputtering for air. She choked out, "This isn't real, _Dracula_…"

Finally he smiled, but it was not his infamous coy Cheshire grin. It was frightening, almost sardonic and it matched his voice. Alucard bowed his head and whispered against her earlobe, "Dreamworld or not—before the end, I shall have you scream out my name…but in pain or pleasure, that remains _your_ choice…You forget, I have read your mind. I know your thoughts."

She spat, "Your are mistaken. Not in a thousand years…"

Alucard gave her one final look before throwing Integra to the ground and he was in no sense gentle. The No-Life King climbed over her, pinning her down with one knee on her hip and a hand still firmly wrapped around her throat. Then he buried his hand into her chest, breaking bone and parting flesh. Her sternum snapped like a knife slicing through warmed butter. Arterial spray decorated his face and thick blood discharged from the wound, spilling over his hand. The vampire's face was crazed! Madness! Integra screamed in horror and against the agonizing pain. She latched her hand on his, digging nails into his undead flesh but he continued, ignoring her desperate attempt to hinder him. He whispered lightly over her moans, "You forget Integra, none of this is real."

Her scream only deepened his smile.

"This is not real." The Nosferatu pulled out her heart, snapping off her precious arteries and veins. To her disgust and horror it was still beating. "You belong to me, Integra…my Countess, my Love…_my slave_."

He took his cloak and swathed them both in its dark embrace.

Then the Dreamworld broke.

Reality settled in.

TBC 

Immortalis

Ha! One more part.

**O **The Bloody Baroness—Or Carmilla, the Queen of Illusions. She is bad and nasty…yes, I stole her from Vampire Hunter D. She is also in my Hellsing fanfic entitled Bloodlust.

One more part.


	4. Chapter 4

Hellsing—Somniator 

**Disclaimer—**I do not own Hellsing. This idea came out of my dream.

**Synopsis—**The seal is broken and the choice is made.

**Author's Notes—**Part four of four. If you want an epilogue, please let me know.

Regards, Immortalis. Pain or Pleasure 

FOUR OF FOUR

Integra woke with a startled gasp and wide unblinking eyes. At once she felt the paralysis, the dreadful helplessness take complete possession of her. The truth was cruel—reality was the opposite of the Dreamworld. The wounded screamed out in pain and horror, expressing prayers and curses and the sound was excruciatingly loud. Explosions boomed in the distance and the earth trembled. Smoke choked the air and those who breathed it. Death itself stalked the carnage. The great Protestant Virgin, Sir Integra Hellsing laid sprawled out on charcoal London, legs buckled underneath, arms limped and head rolling side to side. Like the dreamscape, blood continued to ooze from the bullet wound, staining her lovely tailored suit beyond all repair and draining the Hellsing Seal of its duty.

The pain was numb, which was never a good sign.

A voice echoed over the battlefield. "Lovely _Somniator_."

The shade had ended.

"Make your choice Integra, or I shall be obliged to make one for you."

Integra choked desperately, "Tell me No-Life King, what would you have me do?"

His answer was simple. "_Come with me_." _As his Countess…his bride._

What a ridiculous idea! The dying Hellsing blinked and stared at him. Integra knew that Alucard fancied her, only her body and blood—but never as his personal companion. True he liked his women willingly but he had little patience and a lack of interest.

"No…"

Alucard wrinkled his brow. "This is the point-of-no-return."

She replied firmer, "No! And no! It is **_no_** for evermore!"

"The choice is yours! Not your Protestant God and not England's choice. Make your selection," the vampire raged. "Foolish woman. You have no Heir. The Hellsing-Seal shall be dead. I shall destroy London…rape the land…brutalize the people…bring forth hell!!" That was his trump card, her duty. "It would be fucking wonderful."

Without a moment's hesitation, Integra answered plainly, "No…"

Alucard stiffened and the expression on his face grew darker. Terribly grim, even somewhat disappointed. The vampire realized that when in the end, Integra had thwarted him. Besides rejection is difficult, especially for a No-Life King. "You deny me even now," he replied evenly.

"Especially now and always…" Again Integra felt her remaining blood boil and again she used the words of her grandfather, "You have _nothing_. You feel nothing. You are nothing!!!"

His expression was terrible.

Integra glanced again at the sigils on his gloves and suddenly it fractured, splitting off a corner of the Hellsing Seal. The bounds forged by Abraham Van Hellsing were breaking and she was dying. Like several times before, the vampire tempted to use his own specialized and perfected powers to break his tiring oppression—usually at the renewal of the bonds, when the Hellsing Heirs were physically the weakest. Both times were unsuccessful; however, but given Integra's falling status, things had changed.

Now, the stakes were in his favor.

The sigils emblazoned and flared red, dying out—the corresponding marks of his bondage were no longer unified, but shattered like a mirror, almost broken. Like a crack, he felt the rupturing of the Hellsing Seal, since the blood that it was forged with was slowly diminishing, soaking into the charcoal ground. Over a century ago the Hellsing enslaved an immortal by the binds of blood and generation. Now nothing sealed the deal. Freed and unbound Alucard took the form of his old self, as the bloodthirsty Count of Wallachia, except for the white-hair and his favorite orange sunglasses. His jaw had the faintest trace of a five o-clock shadow. The Hellhounds roamed around with their darting red-eyes, salivating tongues and sharp teeth. He was laughing before he was aware of it. The sound of his endless mirth started as soft mischievous chuckles, and then escalated into an outright roar that carried, echoing in the midnight air.

Finally he turned his attention on his former Master and his future victim. "Nothing…nothing but you."

Integra challenged him and replied dryly, "Alucard…either bite me or fuck me!"

The No-Life King smiled at his Countess. "Happy to oblige…"

He swathed her in darkness with his lips bowing to her neck. True enough, before the rising of the sun, Integra called out his name—but in pain or pleasure that remains to be seen.

_Immortalis_

**__**

**_Feedback_**—do you want an epilogue? I can do it. Please say so in your review.

That is a taste of what my dreams are like. Actually this was edited. The original was too scary for print. I mean it was fricking weird. Very dark. Ask Mad-05. I tell her my dreams.


	5. Epilogue

**Hellsing—**Somniator

**Disclaimer—**As always, I have no legal rights towards Hellsing and I seriously doubt that I am profiting from this.

**Chapter Title—**Somniator: Epilogue

**Rating—**PG-13. Just be mature folks.

**Synopsis—**Pain or pleasure is the question.

**Author's Notes—**I thank you for your patience. I did not want to spoil Somniator with a lame and cliché epilogue, which I must add, is a sin punishable by death. No doubt, you have read plenty of such cases and I had no desire to be added to the blacklist. I hope that I satisfied you.

Ta,

Immortalis

**Epilogue **

Some find the dark disturbing while others relish in his endless embrace. It can be comforting, similar to the caresses of a lover, the words of a friend or the cocoon closeness of a blanket on an icy cold night—but, in the same element is it faceless. And one is alone.

The figure stirred in the darkness, moaning sleepily and swaying on the sea of infinite shadow.

Eyes open, Integra found nothing but the endless, bleakness of darkness and solitude—nothingness. It was silent as a forgotten and abandoned grave, save but her slight labored breathing. Instinctually she reached out half-hoping to find something or some_one_ in this continuous mass of shadow and silence; instead her outstretch hand brushed against a solid mass, a wall. Her hand might have recoiled an inch, but Integra gathered a breath of courage and stroked, feeling the surface and searching for the length, an edge, or an empty space. There were none. Just walls…a top, two sides, a bottom…

Besides the darkness there was nothing but the walls touching one another. Four separate walls. Perhaps it was a room; however the space felt enclosed and tight. Like a box…long and narrow.

Then a haunting realization dawned on her.

Integra knew. To truly know—just what it feels like to wake up—_inside_ a coffin.

A startled gasp escaped her and the distraught sound echoed around her like a cruel lover, almost laughing at her. The denial was so omnipotent that her erratic heartbeats pounded in her ears and could be nothing short of the roaring fires of hell overtaking the distressed cries and aching screams of the damned. And then she saw the flashes of the flames and the unimaginable scorching heat. Time was immeasurable as the soul-wrenching vision passed before her eyes. It illuminated the darkness but Integra remained alone.

Abandoned.

Lost.

She witnessed firsthand what it is like to live and be dead.

"Oh God…"

Desperate, Integra touch the wall above her and pushed. The lid slid to the side and a shiver of light flashed across her eyes, causing her to wince and recoil. Integra shielded her eyes and blindingly grabbed the edge, shoving it off. It fell off easy enough but in slammed into the floor with anything but a discreet silent sound. Gripping the sides of the coffin Integra bolted up, panting and peering out like a frightened and curious child.

A golden light illuminated the room as hundreds of candles flourished, drowning in hot wax on dark-stained furniture, such as the 17th century piano, bookshelf, dresser and thin cabinet. The slate-stone floor was covered in Persian rugs and thick rich tapestries draped the dark-painted, Gothic walls. There were no windows and only one English-oak door, bolted and locked shut. Waves of books, parchment and foreign manuscripts rose like a sea of literature from the crammed shelves. The density was so thick that it seemed that nothing else supported the low and vaulted ceiling. The blaze of the candles danced like fiery demons and melted off the polished ebony wood and chased the shadows lurking between each fold of blood red satin that lined the interior of the container of death, the coffin.

Stepping out and from the coffin's edge, her glaze followed towards the object propped up against the far wall, across from the death-box **O**, half covered in drapes and dusty cobwebs—a mirror. Like most things in the grand room the mirror was old, might be considered an antique. It was at least 15th century and the smoking edges were testament to its age. God only knew what it had seen.

While the reflection looked like her, Integra felt far from herself.

In a almost sensual manner Integra examined herself—she wore the same Victorian nightgown as in her terrible dreamscape, but she lacked the wounds, such as the bullet hole in her liver, scratches, heavy bruises and even the Silver-Kiss bestowed personally from the No-Life King. Again, she examined her unmarred neck. It remained untouched, unravished. It was Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing staring at herself, and yet, she felt as though the figure in the mirror was a stranger. For a moment she sensed as if the form, her body was an alien planet to her. Something foreign. It was her and _not _her, if that made any sense.

Perhaps it was her eyes.

There were empty.

A dry laughed escaped her, a mixture between relief and confusion—it felt _so real_. Everything seemed so real—the paralysis, his breath and sharp fangs, the hot liquid steaming down her neck, inviting and wandering hands and murmuring whispers. It must have been real but there wasn't any evidence to support such claim, other than her memories. _But_ the mind does have its filters, and it can fabricate and distort reality; however, Integra had never been prone to such lies or illusions. Perhaps reality was a farce. Integra could no longer distinguish the different between the Dreamworld and the real world. It all felt the same and they could easily be mistaken or even considered as the same, to be the same, as one element, or thing.

"Pray _someone_ tell me, what is this deviltry?" she prayed, her primary focus was on God, who did not answer.

Something moved behind her, a shadow or perhaps much more.

Integra tore her eyes from the image and peered at the scene behind her. A chair faced the heavily decorated fireplace and the reflection from the roaring fire engulfed its silhouette and the figure sitting down in the rich ebony-black leather. It was stillness of the stranger that captivated her special attention. He remained unmoved, even bored at her presence and inquisitiveness. It was a majestic stranger dressed solely in black, save but the crimson tie constricted around his throat, long sleek-back hair, and a heavy five o'clock shadowed his chin. He held a wineglass filled with such mysterious red substance, which could only be guessed as wine or blood. An old book filled with Italian poems rested, ignored and placed on his thigh. The figure glazed into the flames, apparently lost and entranced by their sensual, liquid-smooth dance. Regardless his eyes betrayed his identify as once.

Stepping forward Integra asked in her bravest tone, "I must ask, is this another

Dreamscape, O No-Life King? Some element of the Dreamworld? Another one of your twisted games?"

Hearing her voice he jumped, snapping out of his rambling thoughts and memories. Quickly Alucard adjusted himself in the chair, turning and peered over his shoulder. Despite his comfortable quarters the vampire tensed rigid at the sight of her. The action reminded Integra of a child caught red-handed in the cookie-jar. His eyes glittered like firestones; but as he glazed hungrily at her his expression changed, perhaps it was pity, compassion or even confusion.

He did not answer.

Integra bit her lip and exclaimed fearfully, her voice was that of a child, "I cannot feel the difference."

Alucard hummed.

"I feel…" her voice sharpened like steel, "I feel _nothing_. Emptiness."

The vampire raised a skeptical brow, closing the discarded book with a distinct snap and laying it beside the glass of mysterious substance. The No-Life King sat, leg crossed over the other, eyes dancing over his interlocked fingers. His sinister eyes absorbed her whole and she felt as though he was probing her like some mad scientist experimenting with a rare specimen.

"None of that was real," she stated indifferently. "None of this is real."

"On the contrary, I challenge that," he mused sweetly. The Cheshire-smile could have crossed his lips for any reason. He impassively shrugged his shoulders and remarked dryly, "But…Play _innocent_ if that pleases you."

"This is _your_ deviltry," she accused.

Alucard laughed mechanically, and as the sound echoed like the remains of a lingering a ghost he put his hands together, applauding her. He replied darkly, "Poor unfortunate Integra. _This_, "he mused lightly displaying his palms, "is not mine. It lacks my artistic flavor. God has his puppets. And you have just joined his endless collection."

She would not be mocked, at least of all God—but he remained silent.

"Answer me!" she cried out.

"The truth is bitter and even cruel, _Integra_," he offered empathically. Despite the red sheen in his glaze, his eyes appeared pained and sad.

Integra inhaled sharply but her raging demon would not tamed or calmed. If looks could burn than Alucard would be a pile of ash. She replied evenly, "Tell me. No more riddles. No more games."

The No-Life King heaved a defeated sigh. Standing to his feet Alucard beckoned her to follow him with his demon-dancing eyes and outstretch hand. He ambled pass the mirror, which naturally bore him no reflection and he paused in front of his coffin, and moments before served as her bed. "If it is truth you seek than follow me without fear into the darkness gloom. Come closer."

Against her screaming conscience, Integra heaved in a breath of courage and approached towards the coffin's edge. It was closed. Lid firmly latched in its original place. Together theirs eyes studied the proverb sketched in gold leaves; "The bird of Hermes is my name/ Eating my wings to make me tame." The No-Life King's coffin was one the processions that he treasured deeply, more than life or God. No one was allowed to touch it, much less breathe on its ebony-stone surface. It was his final domain—where he was born and where he dies. Alucard spoke dreamy, "You must admit that it is a lovely perspective. Wouldn't you say, Integra? Death may be a dark house...But it comes with an incredible view. **O**"

"It is _just_ a coffin. There is no truth behind that box," Integra growled low.

"Than there is nothing to fear," Alucard replied low. "Nothing but shadows and silence." His features darken slightly as he kicked the lid off and mockingly invited her towards the death box with an exaggerated wave of his hand. His fangs flashed at her. Defiant and spiteful Integra advanced with her head raised and eyes peering into the coffin, Alucard's domain. Her uncertainty hung in the air like thick smoke and sacrifice to old and evil gods until; finally she was meet with a curious and yet, foreshadowing sight. Strangely, there was already a body lying on the satin lining—a bloodstain, pale beauty with moonlit strands, broken glasses, wearing a shredded shirt with a tie, eyes closed as if in deep sleep or perhaps death—it was herself.

The dead figure was her.

A started cry escaped Integra as she recoiled, practically leaping away, hand gasping her heart and tears appeared in her watering eyes—which, was ironic, given that Integra no longer had the need or the ability to breath, to shed tears or even have a beating heart. She was dead, nothing more than a walk entity, a soul trapped between the realms of the living and the Otherworld. **O **Not a ghost, just a soul.

Alucard remained unmoved by her distress.

Choking Integra pointed an accusing finger at the vampire and exhaled close to breathlessness, "This is not real." Integra glanced down at her body. It could not. It simply couldn't be. However, everything including the .22 bullet wound dodged in her fleshy liver, the bloodstained clothes and of course, the Silver-Kiss piecing and draining her Hellsing-blood dry, only intensified the evidence against her denial and mocked her expired mortality. "That is not real."

He approached the coffin as he traced the edge of the death-box with his index finger, his eyes glazing hungrily at her dead figure. Obliging as ever, he kneeled down at her side, as if her corpse now proved only to be a holy altar or a priceless instrument that he worshipped body, mind and soul. His touch remained on the dark-stained wood, caressing the surface as if it was her flesh he handled. Flaring his nostrils Alucard breathed in her stale blood, the remains of chaos and war on her cool flesh like fine wine.

The No-Life King mused bitterly, "You forget, my Love that _death_ is _not_ a dreamscape. Life is but a dream on the way to death."

It was difficult to perceive whether or not he was speaking to her or her corpse.

She whispered, "I am _not_ dreaming."

He noted with deliberate sweetness, "You never said _stop_."

_A memory flashed across her brain_—his mouth latched on her like some mad leech so long-deprived of the necessity of blood and flesh. Leisurely with each passing moment her feisty and fierce struggles diminished as the No-Life King fed his diabolic craving from her veins, drinking in the hot crimson fluid that have been so long and repetitively denied him. Momentarily moans and gasps of pain escaped her. The color faded from her cheeks turning her skin pale, which was almost white as fallen snow. The sparkle in her sapphire-stone eyes lost its luster and she blinked, struggling to keep them open as a veil of darkness swathed over her eyes.

A voice spoke. It was the voice she was so accustomed to hearing within her mind and for a moment she stirred in hope but the voice fractured as the darkness and silence pressed around her. The monster, the No-Life King spoke mockingly, "My Love, Integra…your blood is like liquid fire. So passionate, intriguing and let us not forget so…" he paused searching for the perfect word or flawless phase before added jeeringly, "innocent…"

Defeated she snagged in his arms, hanging like a limp, ragged doll. She stared up eyes half-closed, not seeing him and the red-rubies that dripped from his mouth.

"Tell me Fallen Master to _stop_," his baritone voice purred wickedly and seductively.

Ill-fated Integra made no reply.

Smirking at her stubborn silence the monster caressed her cheek, the base of his thumb brushing away a single warm tear, which was strangely suspended on time on the curve of her cheek. "Defiant to the end, Integra. Or perhaps foolish. Tell me to stop and I shall."

Ha. She knew in doing so that it spelled weakness and would only add to his ghastly pleasures. Her voice was soft but audible, "Not never. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not in a thousand years."

Alucard seemed satisfied with that answer. "Of course. Not in a thousand years. Never stop. Happy to oblige, _my Countess_, _my No-Life-Queen…_" A Cheshire grin crossed his lips before he placed a zealous kiss on her lips, which revealed the scorching and intoxicating lust of his rage and passion, and perhaps hers' in return—_and the vision faded._

A voice from a distant memory whispered, echoing and accompanying the darkness, "_Falling but not yet broken_…"

Alucard smiled fatherly down at the corpse of his Fallen Master, Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing. The sight was simply exquisite and majestic. Too bad that the immortal-artists such as the Michelangelo, Da Vinci and Botticelli were born about six centuries too late, otherwise they would have an angel to paint, a goddess to model and praise—but Alucard had done one better. He had immortalized her in blood, smoke and the pleasures of murder and chaos. Close to her ear the No-Life King whispered, "Embrace your immortality, Integra…and come _with_ me…"

THE END

There, I hope you like it. It was especially difficult to write. If you don't like than please write your own version and inform me, I would love to see another writer's point of view. Tell me, if you thought it was pain or pleasure, or even a mixture of both. Personally I think this might be too long. But—it is done.

**O** _Death-box_—a coffin

**O **"_Death may be a dark house...But it comes with an incredible view._"

--"The Consequence" by Darth Githoron

**O** _Otherworld_—or the next world, Life-after-Death, the Underworld.


End file.
